


on the very edge of control

by puppethandsyndrome



Series: dsmp drabbles n such [7]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alexis | Quackity Needs a Hug, Depression, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Character Death, Time Travelling Karl Jacobs, beaten to death with a fucking root vegetable, hes away from home a lot and nobody knows why, it isnt named but its obvious yk, mostly just implied, no beta we die like tommyinnit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:07:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29849565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puppethandsyndrome/pseuds/puppethandsyndrome
Summary: quackity is real sad and visits schlatts grave. this is straight up copy pasted from discord messages and doesnt really have a beginning im sorrytitle is a quote from fallen angels by walter dean meyers cause im reading it for school and it hit hardlowercase intended
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity/Karl Jacobs/Sapnap
Series: dsmp drabbles n such [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2116095
Kudos: 20





	on the very edge of control

his only comfort is karl and sapnap. and karl has been gone more and more to god knows where, and sapnap has been so _quiet_ since dreams imprisonment. so quackity sits in a small home office, unwittingly decorated like schlatt's used to be, and he sits in a too-big leather office chair and he tried not to cry because _god_ , what has he been reduced to?

he leaves the house twice.

once, he goes to the remains of l'manberg and he just looks at everything thats left. it isnt much. even after it was rebuilt, it was hollow and sad. tubbo tried, he'd give it to the kid. he really tried to make it home again. but it couldnt really exist without its founders, two of whom were gone. privately, quackity didnt care that much on the third doomsday. l'manberg was living on borrowed time, and the hourglass had finally run out. they couldnt just keep flipping it.

the second time he leaves the house, he goes to a place he swore not to go back to. in the quiet of his mind, he knew that vow wouldnt last.

schlatt's grave is empty and desolate, and it is raining. fitting. the ex-dictator deserves what he has: a crumbling stone in a small clearing, with no footprints. grass doesnt grow here, almost as if the very earth shies from him. nobody visits.

quackity pulls out two bottles of whiskey. he takes a swig from the first one, the burn familiar and gut-wrenching. he remembers mornings in the white house when schlatt would shove the stuff at his vice, not letting him leave till the glass was empty. it was his version of bonding. the duck hybrid couldnt stand it for months afterwards, and it was still painful. good.

he pours the second bottle over the dirt, and winces as it splashes his shoe. if his fiance's were there that night- quackity dint know when that had become _if_ \- they would question him about the smell. it didnt matter. nothing really did.

he left soon after, the weight of memories crushing him. he thought if he stayed any longer, he might never leave. he has a vivid image of himself, wasting away, sitting over the headstone until he finally dies. he wonders if he would see schlatt again in the afterlife, if he would be angry or relieved. he wonders when he became so numb.


End file.
